


Death Most Unexpected

by shewhoguards



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 14:56:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21138545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhoguards/pseuds/shewhoguards
Summary: When a body is found at a dinner party Lady Sybil insists her husband investigates. Much to his surprise it may be the best dinner party he's ever attended.





	Death Most Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liesmyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/gifts).

“Sam, dear, there’s something of a situation..”

Samuel Vimes was used to that note in his wife’s voice. It might mean that a dragon had experienced some digestive distress and now they needed to redecorate again, or that one of the younger assassins had been dared into an attempt on their lives and someone would have to fetch a ladder and possibly some specialist equipment. It might mean any number of things but the end result was rarely good and was frequently expensive.

However, today they were at the type of dinner where the appropriateness of the bowtie was measured by how much it restricted your airflow and for the last thirty minutes he had been enduring a lecture on how buying, demolishing and rebuilding large parts of the Shades in such a way as to appeal to the city gentry would contribute to the well-being of the whole of Ankh Morpork. As such he did his best not to brighten visibly as he gave his apologies to the gentleman in question and strolled away, making a mental note of his name. No doubt Lord Hope would be in touch with the City Watch in a month or two to complain about the completely unsurprising theft of his demolition equipment.

“Problem?” he enquired under his breath, resisting the temptation to try to stick his hands into pockets which for some reason never existed in properly formal clothing.

“Just a bit of an unexpected death.” Sybil said it quietly enough but you could still see ears prick up around the room. It was amazing how people who had severe hearing problems when faced with difficult sentences such as ‘the Watch needs more funding’ could hear even the whispered implication of murder from three streets away.

And as they oh-so-casually sauntered over, Vimes was already scanning faces for clues. Was a frightened glance due to the thought of getting caught or the idea of being the next target? A bit of excitement; well, that just meant someone to seek out later - anyone else who found these dinners as dull as he did might actually be decent company. Drunk as a skunk; mostly a sign Lord Rust had brought his hip flask again.

“Lady Tabitha’s Timothy,” Lady Sybil explained as they squeezed through bodies, acquiring a sizable following on the way. Everyone liked seeing a great mind at work, and possibly more attendees were considering stabbing a fork into their eye to escape from the boredom than Vimes would have credited.

Timothy? Vimes searched his memory for a face. Lady Tabitha had a sizable family and, as she heartily disliked her husband, a habit of bringing her various sons as table companions. This also passed as attempts to introduce them to society in order to marry them off, although having met them on multiple occasions Vimes rather suspected that achieving the end goal might be best served by keeping them in a cupboard until the wedding. Some people’s reputations improved the less you were introduced to them.

“Was Timothy the one who was found in the kitchens trying to ah--make friends with the maids last dinner party?” he asked, as vague memory blossomed. No-one had been too sorry about the fact that the young man had mysteriously tripped and gone head first inside an oven. Ankh Morpork kitchen staff didn’t tend to be the timid shrinking type. “Or the one--”

They stopped at a table. Vimes surveyed the evidence. Some distance away he could hear Lady Tabitha sobbing.

“Ah.” He looked from the small heap of ashes to Lady Sybil’s very carefully controlled expression. “It’s--” _Don’t say it’s not a real murder, don’t even hint that it’s unimportant._ Marriage is a series of small decisions about how best to avoid sleeping on the sofa. Besides, given the choice, would he prefer to spend the next three hours pursuing the apparent murder of a pampered pet or actually circulating amongst the great and good?. Vimes hesitated, aware that the eyes of every person attending now rested on him.

“I will need to question all those present,” he announced after a moment.

There was an anticipatory release of breath around him. Lady Sybil didn’t quite smile, but there was a way to her not-smiling that Vimes knew by now. It meant he had made a good decision.

***

It was three hours later. It was the best dinner party Vimes had ever attended. Alcohol was easily waved away with a murmur that he needed to focus on the case and talking to people was actually enjoyable when the questions you were asking were less about the house prices around the palace and more along the lines of_ ‘where were you when the appetisers were served and do you have an alibi?’._

So far, so enjoyable - Vimes was used to finding his work satisfying. What was slightly more mystifying was that other people seemed to be enjoying it too. Far from avoiding his eyes, trying to cut short conversations or attempting to climb out toilet windows when he approached, as usually happened at dinner parties, people were positively queuing up to talk to him. Everyone wanted to tell him about the time one of Lady Tabitha’s sons had tried to grope them, or how Lord Shirdon her husband had just hated that little dragon, or how one of their maids was in the family way a few months after the last dinner party, or--

By the end of the evening, Vimes had a charge sheet for several people who hadn’t even been attending, mental pictures of multiple attendees that the strongest bleach would be unable to wash away, and a hearty suspicion that the best course of action for Lady Tabitha would be to move to another city and forget to give her family a forwarding address.

He cleared his throat, and was a little stunned by how quickly quiet fell. Usually you only got that kind of silence when you told people that anything they said was being taken down for evidence.  
“Right, well,” he said briskly. “Several of you have been highly concerned about the fact Lord Finnegan disappeared from dinner before the event in question. I am happy to report that I have investigated and, suffice it to say, had Lord Finnegan had a dragon with him when he was.. away from the room he would likely have had burns across large parts of his body due to the lack of flame retardant clothing.” Or any clothing in fact. His audience tittered, well able to read between the lines, and several people nudged both the Lord and his wife in order to exchange winks and knowing grins. They looked unsure whether to be mortified (or in the lady’s case furious) or gratified by the sudden attention.

“A number of you have also mentioned Lady Jemima and her famous feud with Lady Tabitha. However, I have it on good authority that she was dead at the time and while, obviously, this does not entirely clear her there have been no reports of undead occurrences in her family before now.”

“I have heard concerns that young Lady Beatrix has been seen with a mirror this evening, but have managed to verify that the mirror has never in fact left her hand.” Lady Beatrix looked mortified. Lady Sybil leaned forward and whispered frantically in Vimes’ ear. “Er. As you can tell from her stunning hair and indeed beautiful appearance?” he added meekly. Lady Sybil whispered some more. “And er, we heartily congratulate her on her engagement to Lord ah-- er-- yes, the young Lord we all know over there.” Now Beatrix was blushing and beaming and the young man making calf’s eyes next to her looked fit to pass out. Apparently he hadn’t known yet he was engaged. Well, that would be an interesting wedding.

“But,” he cleared his throat, “I would say the most likely cause is that Timothy decided to consume the missing birthday cake candles and so, unfortunately, exploded. A sad misadventure.” There was a sigh, but one of immense satisfaction which seemed to sweep over the room and then, to Vimes’ surprise, a scattering of applause. As the dinner party dissolved into excited conversation, he caught his wife’s eye. “And you knew that,” he added very quietly, so quietly that he barely more than mouthed the words.

“I might have had an idea,” she admitted. “That dragon would eat anything that wasn’t nailed down -- actually, I seem to remember the first time I saw him it was for a very nasty case of eating nails. It was really only a matter of time.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You usually prefer me to leave work at home.”

“You circulated, you made entertaining conversation, you were an excellent dinner guest. I see nothing to object to here.” She smiled at him, her hand reaching for his under cover of the dinner table.

“Lady Tabitha would be much better without her family, you know.” he felt obliged to point out.

“She knows,” Lady Sybil agreed. “Lady Tabitha is going for a lovely holiday to recover from her sad loss to the Ramtops. We’ve talked about it.” She smiled, and there was steel in that smile. “And it means she’ll be nicely far away when her solicitor tells them about the will-change that leaves most of her fortune to help sick dragons.” She squeezed his hand lightly. “Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“Happy anniversary.”

And that, he reflected, might almost be enough to make up for the many many more dinner parties they were likely to be invited to when word of his performance tonight got out.

Almost.


End file.
